The city was electric — glowing windows, scattered laughter, neon-soaked signs blinking across uneven pavement. The night air was thick with street food smoke and echoes of music from tucked-away bars.
Crestwood students had broken off into small packs, scattered along the street. Some had already reached the party. Others were still wandering.
Ethan, Ryan, Logan, Owen, Julian, Adrian, and Rowan walked along one side of the road, weaving between food carts and storefronts. Just across the street, three other Crestwood students moved ahead — tall, broad-shouldered, laughing among themselves. One of them, a blond guy in a loose white shirt, stood out — sharp and athletic, easy to notice even in the crowd.
That was when it happened.
Two groups lingered by an alley — one of them leaning casually against the wall, black jackets on their backs with white claw-mark symbols. The other group sat on parked bikes nearby, armbands tied to their left arms.
No one said anything.
As the three students passed between them, a sharp laugh burst out.
One of the jacketed boys choked mid-sip on his soda, a spray of fizz spitting out — right onto the blond student's chest.
The boy froze. His shirt clung wetly to his collarbone, droplets trailing down his jaw.
The soda guy coughed once, still grinning like it was nothing.
"What the hell?" the blond snapped, stepping back.
"You walked a little close, bro," one of the crew members said with a smirk.
"I didn't walk into anything."
Two of the black-jacket boys stepped forward — slow, measured, but with enough weight to their movement that the message was clear.
The blond didn't back down. "You think this is funny?"
A laugh came from somewhere behind the crew. "Kinda."
Across the street, Ethan slowed.
"Something's off," he muttered, already moving. "Let's go."
They started across fast.
But it was too late.
The black-jacket guy didn't warn — he just swung.
A fist to the student's face, sharp and fast. The boy staggered and hit the pavement hard.
The other two Crestwood guys immediately moved — one grabbed the attacker's collar, the other swung wide, but they were outnumbered.
One took a hit to the ribs. The other was shoved into a bike frame.
Ryan's fist came next.
Contact — solid and loud.
Chaos broke instantly.
Logan shoved someone into the wall. Ethan blocked a hit and returned one to the ribs. Owen moved in beside Ryan, kicking out low, trying to scatter their footing. Adrian stayed behind, pulling other Crestwood students out of the way.
Julian got grabbed by the collar and slammed into a closed storefront shutter.
Rowan stood still for a second.
And then he moved.
His strike was clean — fast to the ribs of the guy holding Julian. The grip loosened. Rowan spun low, dodged a wild swing, and clipped the attacker's jaw with a jab sharp enough to echo.
Another opponent lunged.
Rowan didn't panic — he twisted, deflected, and answered with a blow to the stomach.
But just as his rhythm began to lock in, something pulled him out — not sound, not pain. A memory. A shadow that shouldn't have been here.
He froze.
And that was all it took.
A hand closed around Rowan's collar.
Another fist cocked back.
Rowan didn't move.
But Ethan did.
He crashed into the attacker, forcing him off. "Back off," Ethan said through clenched teeth, dragging Rowan behind him. But he was already slowing down. A punch caught him in the gut, and he staggered, breath gone.
Another fist came for him—
"Enough."
The word hit the air like a blade.
Every head turned.
Daniel stood at the mouth of the alley, not rushing, not tense — just present. His hoodie half-zipped, Zach walking beside him with his hands in his pockets.
No one spoke.
Daniel stepped forward, crouched next to the Blond guy who'd first been hit, helped him up without saying anything. The guy nodded, face bruised, pride dented.
One of the crew leaders stepped forward. His gloves were cracked at the knuckles. "You here to pick up their mess?"
Daniel's eyes didn't leave him. "You want a mess? Take it out on me."
The guy grinned. "You serious?"
Daniel tilted his head. "Pick someone. Or come yourself."
The leader didn't even hesitate. "I'll handle it."
The crew backed up. Daniel walked into the open, the ground between them like a stage.
The leader moved first — a hook straight for the side.
Daniel dodged, barely.
He answered with a low kick, just grazing the leg. Not enough.
The guy came again, heavier this time. A feint — then a shoulder shove that caught Daniel off-guard.
He staggered but stayed up.
Daniel wasn't trying to show off. He was trying to end it.
A jab — blocked. A counter — missed.
Then Daniel closed distance, slipped to the side, and landed a clean elbow to the chest. The guy grunted — stumbled.
Daniel used that second.
Pivot. Leg sweep.
The leader hit the ground, hard.
Daniel stood over him. "You're done."
The guy didn't answer. Just coughed and stayed down.
"Cute warm-up," came a voice from the other side.
A taller guy stepped forward — no black jacket. Just a sleeveless hoodie, gray armband tight around a muscular arm. He looked leaner, faster — but more dangerous.
"Want the real one?" he asked.
Daniel didn't respond.
The fight began before anyone could blink.
The guy moved fast — not just fast for a fighter. He closed distance in a blink, ducked Daniel's first jab, and hit him square in the stomach with a knee that lifted him half a foot off the ground.
Daniel grunted, stumbling back. He barely stayed upright.
Then the kicks came.
One to the ribs. Another to the leg.
Daniel raised his arms to block — too late.
A punch clipped his jaw. Another knee slammed into his side.
He was losing.
Not because he was weak — because this guy moved like wind. Slippery. Sharp. Unreadable.
Daniel took a breath and backed off — five steps, six.
His body screamed. His head buzzed.
He circled.
Stop matching his speed. Change the distance.
The next time the guy lunged, Daniel didn't meet him head-on.
He moved away.
Used space.
Forced him to chase.
And when he did — Daniel's leg came up.
A high kick met the attacker's shoulder. The guy spun — but didn't fall.
Daniel moved again — footwork sharp now, planting himself where the other couldn't easily reach. Another kick — this one lower, to the thigh.
The guy grunted.
Daniel sidestepped. Waited.
Feinted.
The punch came fast — and missed.
Daniel's heel came around, crashing into the side of his opponent's face.
Impact.
The guy went down — not slow.
This time, hard.
Concrete hit his back like a drumbeat.
And he didn't rise.
Daniel stood near Rowan, who sat on his knees. His hoodie was now unzipped, breath finally slowing. A silence settled between them — not awkward, but loaded.
He glanced sideways. "The only reason James ever started his crew," he said slowly, "was to stop things like today from happening."
Rowan didn't speak.
Daniel continued, voice even. "He knew how it worked. He knew people like them would always be around… and he made sure we were ready."
The weight in the air shifted—softer, now. Daniel's tone, too.
"But he also told me something else."
Rowan looked up, wary.
Daniel met his eyes. "He told me to stay away from you."
Rowan stilled. His chest felt tight.
Daniel's voice was low, not bitter. "He didn't want you anywhere near this. Not because he didn't trust you… but because he didn't want this world getting to you."
A pause.
"I went against that."
Rowan's brows drew in slightly. "Why?"
Daniel's jaw tensed. "Because I thought it'd be an honor to know you. To walk beside someone like you."
His voice dropped again, almost reluctant. "But I never expected it to be this hard for you. And I'm sorry for that."
Rowan swallowed. The street around them was still—no sirens, no shouting. Just fading adrenaline and the soft thud of a faraway bassline.
"I fought today," Rowan said, voice tight. "Because Julian was in trouble."
Daniel nodded but didn't interrupt.
Rowan's hands clenched at his sides. "That was the reason. But even after I helped him…"
He looked away. "I didn't stop."
He exhaled sharply. "I didn't even think. It just… felt right."
Then, quieter—just above a whisper:
"And I hated that."
The silence hung heavier.
Rowan's voice didn't tremble. It was steady. Honest.
"But maybe… that part of me was always there."
He paused, then added softly, "If someone I care about's in danger… I'll step in again."
Daniel's voice returned, quiet but unwavering. "Then don't carry it by yourself."
Rowan's gaze flicked back, confused.
Daniel stepped closer. "You're not alone anymore. I don't care what James wanted. You're part of us now."
Rowan didn't answer—but the tightness in his shoulders softened.
Behind them, the crew they'd just fought stood still.
Two leaders stepped forward.
The first walked with a limp, wiping blood from his chin. Calm. Still breathing heavy, but composed.
The second — taller, arms crossed — didn't say a word. His eyes stayed locked on Daniel. There was something in him that hadn't settled yet. Pride, maybe. Or unfinished business.
The calm one spoke first. His voice wasn't cold. Just real.
"You're not the strongest tonight," he said. "But you all stood for something. And some of us… can still recognize that."
His gaze shifted to Rowan. "You didn't break. That's all I needed to see."
But the second leader suddenly stepped forward, jaw set. "Then I'll take one more round."
Daniel blinked.
The calm leader didn't flinch.
He raised a hand, stopping him. "No."
The taller one narrowed his eyes. "You serious?"
The calm leader looked at him — not angry, but steady. "They already know who you are. You don't have to prove it."
A beat passed.
Then the taller one stepped back, reluctantly.
The message was clear. Not weakness. Brotherhood.
And the crew understood that.
As they turned to leave, the calm leader passed Rowan and spoke quietly—just enough for him to hear.
"You either carry it until it eats you… or you learn to live with it."
He paused, then nodded once. "And the ones worth protecting? They make the weight lighter."
Then he turned, motioning to his crew. "Let's move."
There were no protests this time.
Only silent glances. A few backward looks. A nod of respect, from fighters who didn't walk away often.
Zach broke the silence next. "We should get going."
Daniel let out a breath, still watching the corner where the crew vanished. "Yeah."
He turned toward the others, signaling to move.
As they walked, Daniel muttered under his breath, mostly to himself:
"They were just a new crew… I hope we don't run into worse ones."
ARRIVAL AT THE DJ
The moment they stepped in, the beat dropped like thunder.
Students flooded the dance floor. Lights flared across the ceiling. The music shook the walls, alive with pulsing neon and bass you could feel in your ribs.
Julian had already dragged Zach straight into the crowd, the two of them blending into a swirl of arms and laughter. Zach's arm slung around Julian's shoulder as if it were instinct.
Ryan, Owen, and Adrian disappeared next, weaving into the thick energy of the party like it was home.
Owen clapped Logan on the back, shouting something over the music. Logan just laughed and followed with a grin.
Daniel and Ethan stayed for a second. Ethan looked at Rowan.
"You coming?"
Rowan shook his head, arms crossed. "Nah. I'll just watch."
Ethan nodded. "Alright."
He disappeared into the chaos.
Daniel lingered one beat longer, then tilted his head with a smirk. "Suit yourself."
Then he was gone too.
Rowan leaned against the wall.
Everything ahead of him pulsed and spun—colors, music, heat. Friends losing themselves in the moment.
Daniel was already in the center of it all, not trying to lead, but somehow always leading.
Julian and Zach danced like idiots. Sarah, Lena, and Nina had joined them somewhere—laughing, moving like they belonged here.
They did belong here.
Rowan exhaled softly.
He never felt like he did.
But he didn't feel far anymore.
Just… outside. Watching.
And for the first time in a long time, that was okay.
His eyes met Daniel's across the crowd. Daniel tilted his head slightly—a silent question.
Rowan shook his head.
A silent answer.
Daniel grinned faintly, then turned away—back into the music.
Rowan stayed where he was.
Still. Steady.
And this time, not lost.
Just finding his pace.